


Here Comes Pride Up the Backstretch

by SympathyForTheBlinderDevil



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jealousy, Reunited and It Feels So Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 00:03:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16691503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SympathyForTheBlinderDevil/pseuds/SympathyForTheBlinderDevil
Summary: Sequel to “Sometimes, My Horses Stand a Chance Of Winning” and ”My Horse Won”You have pushed Tommy away in an attempt to have a normal life. When Tommy becomes interested in the Garrison’s new barmaid, and Arthur seems a little too protective of you, jealousy pushes you back together.





	Here Comes Pride Up the Backstretch

Pride is a foolish thing; it can steal you away from your heart’s desire and convince you that it’s for the best. A year ago you let your pride come between you and Tommy, and you’ve regretted it ever since. 

It seems like you’ve been almost a pair for as long as you can remember. Every year or so, your eyes meet across a crowded room, sparks fly, and you burn through each other like summer lightning. It usually lasts a night—although, one time it lasted several weeks—and then you fall out. Why do you find so many ways to resist what the universe has clearly ordained? It all boils down to pride.

The last time you slept with him you honestly just slept. You were drinking at the Marquis when Tommy appeared out of nowhere. You were in no mood for the Tommy Shelby charm, and let him know it. You were nursing a horrible chest cold, and despite your best efforts at resisting, he took you back to Watery Lane to take care of you. You gave him quite a hard time, even in your weakened state, but he just kept snuggling up to your back and saying all the right things. He was murmuring sweet words, soft and low, when you dozed off. You could almost swear that through your codeine induced fog you heard him say, “I love you,” but you have no way of knowing for sure.

Is he even capable of loving anything other than money, power, and maybe horses? You doubt if you’ll ever find out because you left in the early light of dawn. When he came round to your place later that morning, you and your pride turned him down flat. You can still see him standing in your kitchen, wearing that gray tweed suit, his cap throwing flashes of light from a razor peeking out of the brim, his dangerous lips asking you why you left.

“Tommy, I left because I know how this story ends. Rather than stick around long enough for you to kill my dreams again, I thought I’d just skip to the ending and leave.” 

He winced for a split second as he started to say something, “y/n…” then he stopped himself. He slowly shook his head and sniffed, pulled a cigarette from his omnipresent silver case, and struck a match. He watched the match burn for a moment, held tightly between his thumb and forefinger before lighting his cigarette. By the time this ritual was over, he had transformed back into ice-cold Tommy Shelby.

Wisps of white smoke curled around his lips as he spoke, “So that’s how you want it?”

“Yeah. It may not be as much fun for you, but it seems safer for me.”

He looked through you, past you, beyond your very being and nodded. “Take care of yourself.” He turned and walked out the door, taking a piece of your heart with him as he went. Better a piece than the whole thing, you reasoned.

There were nights in the following months when you couldn’t sleep. Nights that would see you toss fitfully, tangled in your bedsheets and crying for peace that wouldn’t come. On some of those nights, you would go to your window to look out on the street below, and occasionally, you would see him there. He had no reason to be in your neighborhood. Still, there he’d be. Hands shoved into the pockets of his long black coat, cigarette glowing on his lips, his face turned up to your window. Sometimes the light from your room would fall just right across his icy blue eyes and you knew he could see you. Your stomach would knot, and your heart would melt, but your pride would override your emotions and keep you from calling his name. 

The two of you played this game a dozen times. You even sent word through John that he needed to stop coming to your street. You took it in turns to be infuriated and to wish he’d come again. Then one night was the last night. Funny, at the time you didn’t know that it would be the last— I guess you never do. You indulged your aching heart and watched him, half hidden behind your curtains, not caring if he saw you. When he crushed out his cigarette for the last time under your window, he did a strange thing. He looked up at you like he always did, but this time he said something. What he said, you’ll never know. But, the look in his eyes was pleading. You nearly threw up the window sash and called out to him, but once again, your pride kept you still. You just shook your head and walked away. 

You told yourself all kinds of things to justify walking away from Tommy: He can’t love anyone but himself. He will never care about anything but his business. He is only capable of a physical relationship, so why bother? Boy were you wrong.

***

Grace was her name. 

She had fair skin and hair, eyes the color of the sea, and a voice that could make the devils in Small Heath weep. Tommy was smitten. Everyone you knew was talking about the new Irish barmaid who had Tommy eating out of the palm of her hand. You saw him mooning after her in the Garrison one night when you had worked up the nerve to meet some friends there for a drink. His eyes followed her everywhere she went, and she moved with the practiced poise of a girl who knew she was being watched. 

You sat with your back to the room and stewed in your mixed emotions. You sank shot after shot, trying to kill the unjustified jealousy that was shredding your nerves. You had pushed him away. You didn’t want or need someone as fickle and capricious as Thomas Shelby in your life. You could never trust him, never rest easy when he left home. The few weeks that you spent living with the King of Small Heath proved that point. But still, you wanted to cry. Your heart was okay as long as he was only seeking the company of whores and wishing they were you. You were fine as long as he was standing on your street late at night, watching your windows for a sign that you were safe and alone. But now, he didn’t come to your street and look up at your window mouthing words that you couldn’t understand. You looked over your shoulder towards the bar and wished that you hadn’t.

When he spoke to her she radiated the warmth of a woman in love, and he basked in her glow. She looked up at him through her pale lashes and giggled at something he said, and you felt a knife twist in your heart. There you sat, openly staring at them like a twat, your eyes filled with tears. You felt a warm hand squeeze your shoulder and break the spell that you were under.

“Ay, sister, I haven’t seen you around here for a while,” a gravelly voice spoke. Arthur put a pint into your hand and sat down beside you. His sympathetic eyes dragged you back to reality and stopped you making an ass of yourself. 

“Ta, Arthur.” You held the pint up in a little toasting gesture and smiled sadly. “I guess I look a fool, pining after him in front of God and everybody.” You sat the glass of lager down on the table and put your head in your hands. You were good and drunk. Too drunk to care if people saw you hiding your face as bitter tears dripped off your chin.

Arthur put a handkerchief in your lap and leaned close enough that only you could hear him. “This Grace gal, she’s only a diversion, love. It ain’t gonna last. She’s not right for him… not like you are. All the birds he’s seen are just substitutes for you.”

“Oh, Arthur,” you sighed, “I’ve really fucked up. I’ve seen the way he looks at her. The way he used to look at me…” Your voice cracked and you buried your head in Arthur’s shoulder. 

You remember him patting your back and telling you that you’d better just go home for the night. You knew that he was right. You were too drunk and too obviously heartsick to stay at the Garrison. Your friends had all peeled off into dark corners with guys that they’d met. You were lucky that you had a friend like Arthur pulling you toward the door instead of some random chap. As you passed the bar, Tommy’s eyes met yours and for the briefest moment, you saw something like worry there. His gaze shifted to Arthur, and they nodded in understanding. He wanted Arthur to see you home safe.

You resented the fact that Tommy felt like you were his business and started pulling away from Arthur, reeling toward the bar. “Don’t you worry about me, Tommy Shelby,” you slurred, “Worry about your barmaid.” Grace’s head snapped up, and she stared in your direction. You raised your eyebrows and bobbed your head at her, “Do you have something to say, darlin’?” You mocked her Irish accent. Tommy held his hand up, “Y/n, it’s time to go home.” You smiled and turned on your heel, allowing Arthur to take your arm again. You held your other arm aloft with your middle finger extended in Tommy’s direction. 

As you walked out into the lane the night air sobered you up a bit. Arthur shook his head and spoke tenderly to you, “Y/n, you can’t let him get to you. He’ll be back.” 

You leaned closer into his side and the tears started again, “I’ve made such a fool of myself tonight. God! Why did I turn around? Why did you let me speak to them?”

Arthur turned to face you and lightly chuckled, “Do you really think I could have stopped you?” He wiped your tears with his thumbs and kissed your forehead. “You deserve someone better than Tommy.” Arthur wrapped his arms around you and you let yourself find refuge in his warmth. He was always kind to you, which stood in stark contrast with his actions toward most others. He was mad, bad, and dangerous to know, but to you, he was always warm and good. Arthur and you stood there in the street embracing until you heard footsteps coming from the direction of the Garrison. As you pulled apart Arthur rolled his eyes and whispered, “Aw, fook. It’s Tommy.”

Arthur kept an arm around you and you braced yourself for whatever was about to happen. Tommy was rolling a cigarette against his bottom lip as he approached. He stopped and lit a match, the flame lighting his features and revealing the contempt he felt for the scene he had interrupted. Arthur spoke first. “Just walking her home, Tom.”

“It doesn’t look like you were walking. Quite the opposite, actually.” Tommy’s voice was tense.

You interjected, “He was just cleaning up another one of your messes. Arthur, let’s go.” You pulled on his arm, attempting to drag him in the direction of your flat. He stood still, facing Tommy down. 

“Are we square, brother?” Arthur’s eyes never left Tommy’s and his nostrils flared as he spoke. He was holding back a righteous anger. 

“Yeah,” Tommy softly answered, “we’re square. I’ll see her the rest of the way home.”  
Arthur squeezed your hand and began to walk away. “No, Arthur, wait!” you protested. How could he abandon you to his brother after the way Tommy had hurt you tonight? Your heart jumped into your throat, and you raced in front of him to block his way. “Please, I can’t bear to be alone with him now.” You dropped your gaze to the dirty street.

“Y/n, let Tommy walk you home,” he said with strained determination.

As Arthur’s footsteps faded down the street, Tommy came to stand beside you. “What was that display in there?” he demanded, jerking a thumb toward the Garrison.

“I could ask you the same bloody thing. Making goo goo eyes at your barmaid for all the world to see,” you huffed. You began to walk away from Tommy and he grabbed your arm.

“You made it plain that you didn’t want me around, so I found company elsewhere.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ touch me!” you jerked your arm out of his grip. “I can’t be your consolation prize! You want that Irish cunt? Go and have her. I swear to God, Tommy, you have no idea what you put me through. I love…loved you, but you couldn’t settle down with me. You just want me when the mood strikes you. Well, I can’t live that way.”

He reached for you again, “It’s not like that. You are drunk. Let me walk you home.”

You wriggled out of his grasp and the tears started again. Damn, you hated to cry in front of him. “It’s not like that? Well, tell me where I’m mistaken, then.”

Tommy grasped both of your shoulders and backed you into the wall, “No, y/n, you pushed me away! I told you how I felt. I told you everything! You pushed me away! You refused to see me!”

“When did you ever tell me anything? What, when you were skulking around my street chanting Romani shite at my windows?” But then you remembered…you had a vague recollection of him saying that he loved you as you lay in his bed in a codeine fog. That night when you were sick…is that what he meant?

His face was inches away from yours and his breath, whiskey and smoke, was hot on your face. You hated how you wanted him at that moment. You pushed against his chest, the scratchy wool of his suit refusing to budge. He had a tortured look on his face; he was fighting a battle within himself. His plush lips were hovering over yours, and slowly they came closer until they parted, drawing you into a kiss. Your knees felt weak as you leaned deeper into him. His tongue slipped into your mouth and you moaned.  
In your periphery, you caught a glimpse of golden hair shining under a street lamp. Apparently, Grace had come out to see where Tommy had gone. Knowing that Grace had spotted you, your pride decided to give her a show. With the hand facing away from Grace’s view, you began to stroke the spot just under Tommy’s ear—the spot that drove him wild. He started running his hands up and down your body and buried his face in your neck, lost in the passion of the moment. Grace stood, transfixed, as Tommy started pulling your skirt up your thighs. You made a weak attempt to stop him (for the benefit of the one who was watching) and eventually stilled his hands with your own. Part of you felt shady for carrying on in front of her, but all is fair in love and war, and this was both.

“Y/n,” Tommy groaned, “let’s go home.”

“Home?” You caressed his face, “I want you, baby, but isn’t there someone else you need to consider?” 

He tangled his hands in your hair and pulled you back into a kiss. “I’ll end it. It’s over. She means nothing to me.”

And there it was. Grace had seen and heard all she needed. She turned and crept away.

You pulled back from him and tried to stop your mind from spinning. “Tommy, what about tomorrow? And the next day? We’ve tried this before.”

“I want you in my life. We will make it work, yeah?”

In that moment on the dirty street outside of the Garrison, you wanted to believe him. So you put your pride aside, and you did.


End file.
